Four Years Old

If this blog were a child:

It would know how to run and speak.
It would know how to count upon its digits.
It would know courtesy and laughter.
It would be in Pre-K and finger painting.
But even though it’s not, it still has a proud parent and a lovely village that helped raise it.

Thanks for sticking with Red Gladiola. ❤



Mid-August, I wake with my bones aching from cold that has seeped in from the open windows. Outside, the sun runs silver over white poultry trucks. Ambling tourists sway with their backpacks on one shoulder.

shoulders bared silver
weak for the height of summer
wintry sunshine

Not one leaf has turned, but already I dread the fall, knowing winter is not far behind. Another flashback. Another year’s end to sum up and find wanting.